


the world is a curse; it'll kill if we let it

by drippingcandie



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Crime Fighting, F/F, M/M, Other, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingcandie/pseuds/drippingcandie
Summary: At the beginning of a particularly hard case, SSA Bill Denbrough will look at his friends as they sit around the table after the briefing.Richie Tozier always looked so focused, even if he was anything but. Ben Hanscom's hands gripped the remote to the projector and clicked through the images as if they weren't terrifying. To his left, Stanley always sat with his back straight, posture perfect as always. Beverly Marsh, in contrast, slouched in her seat. It seems a new set of early onset crows feet lie around Mike Hanlon's eyes every time he used his tablet to flip through his own documents. Eddie Kaspbrak, their brand new edition, looked like he knew he had something to prove."Wheels up in thirty."





	1. those we should know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman Maclean wrote, “It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.”
> 
> Or, meet the individuals who are part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my latest project! This is a Criminal Minds AU that I've been in the process of creating for a few weeks.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Skye, Olive, and Lo for listening to my incessant rambling for that whole period of time.
> 
> Disclaimer: The thoughts and ideas that are expressed by these character will not always line up with my own personal beliefs. How some characters view their own mental health, religion, relationships, occupation, body image, etc. may be negative in future chapters. They are characters, they are human, and how they feel about themselves does not mean that is how I feel about others.
> 
> Some scenarios that these characters go through are based on the show, but are overall altered to fit the overall storyline, which will all be revealed in due time.

 

 

1.

**OFFICE OF THE BAU**

**QUANTICAO, VIRGINIA**

**22:00 AUGUST 24 2017**

                                                                                                                                             

 

“What’s up, boss man?”

 

Mike Hanlon currently stood in the office, looking as chipper as one could this late at night. He had a knack for staying late, is what it had seemed. The man had been walking by none other than Bill Denbrough’s office, Supervisor Special Agent. Knowing him for far longer than Mike would like to admit, boss man worked.

 

Bill let’s out a huff, looking up from whatever file he was staring at and brushing the crop of auburn hair he has out of his face. The expression on his face says _Why don’t you take a fucking look, Hanlon?_

 

And Mike does.

 

He remembers Bill walking in this morning at 8 sharp, coffee in hand and shirt pristinely pressed. He had somehow deteriorated over the course of the day. Some unidentifiable stain sat just above the breast pocket of his now rumpled shirt and his hair looked as if he had been combing it constantly with his fingers.

 

“I’ll assume paperwork.” Mike grimaces, knowing it is everyone’s least favorite part of the job that isn’t related to the field. Paperwork. The bane of bureaucracy. Mike think their may be a few more things, after all he does work at the Bureau, but paperwork tops the cake when it’s 10 o’clock at night.           

 

“Yeah,” Bill huffs again. “Paperwork.”

 

And paperwork there was indeed. Stacks of manilla folders were covering Bill’s desk, along with the counter he had behind him. Another stack sat in one of the menial office chairs that sat across from the man.

 

“Even now that you’re back,” Bill’s voice is slow, he sounds frustrated. Not with Mike, no, just bureaucracy. Yeah, that’s it. “We’re still a man short and it’s catching up with us.”

 

The medical leave that Mike had been on was no secret, and no one was mad at him for it. He had been unfit to go out into the field and he thought the leave would be permanent. He could lecture at universities and write his books, that would’ve been enough for him. But Bill said he needed him. _The Lucky Six._ No one would tell him that seven was the lucky number.

 

Mike looks out towards all the empty desks on the floor, knowing everyone else has gone home, before stepping fully into Bill’s office. He pulls out the chair that doesn’t have a teetering stack of folders and takes a seat.

 

“You should go home.” Mike says plainly, because there’s no other way to state such an obvious fact. Bill looks tired, like he’s about to keel over at any moment. Mike had just stayed behind tonight to get a little ahead, but how buried had his friend been? How many times in the past month had he stayed to catch up?                      

 

Bill rubs his hands against his face as if it will get rid of the dark circles that are sitting under his eyes. When he removes his hands, Mike doesn’t even have to wonder if they’re still there.

 

“I can’t go home,” His voice cracks a little. He shuffled some more papers around but his train of thought was obviously lost. The folders are forgotten and he hides his face in his hands, elbows propping him up on the desk.

 

Mike taps his toes a bit and puts his arms on the armrests of the chair. “You’re anxious.” His eyes scan over his coworker. “Is it Audra again?”

 

Bill snorts, not even bothering to look up. “I thought we agreed,” He pauses as if to collect his thoughts. “Not to profile each other.”

 

And Bill is right, Mike knows he is. All those years ago when it was four agents to a desk in a little shoebox of a room. When they kept all of their files in the store room on the fourth floor instead of on some computer. He remembers them shaking on it too, and even though Mike had a little more experience at the time, he knew he would be the one to break it.

 

Not that it was detrimental. It was more of a common courtesy. When someone finds themselves in a group of six who can read people like how the average person reads a book, it’s easy to feel judged. So, no profiling your coworkers. Interteam profiling earned whoever was doing it a pretty dirty look.

 

“I don’t have a profile.” Mike says, reaching across the table to nudge Bill’s hand. “I have a friend who needs to go home. Whether or not he sleeps in the dog house is none of my business.”

 

Bill laughs at that, and hearing it makes Mike’s heart a little lighter. He couldn’t seem to remember the last time Bill had smiled, or the last time they had a conversation in his office, or the last time he had even been in Bill’s office.

 

“Silver isn’t one for sharing.” He finally says, still slow, but looking up. There’s crinkles at the corner of his almond eyes and his lips are upturned.

 

“I know she isn’t, which is why you should get there first.” Mike winks, stands up, and ignores the aching pain in his knee, mostly there from him running around the office all day. He adjusts his cufflinks, brushes off his jeans, and pushes the chair back into its rightful place before raising his eyebrows as if to say _You coming?_

 

He waits patiently as Bill begrudgingly gets up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. Mike notices he grabs a briefcase, which is probably full of files he won’t be working on tonight. His posture is slouched, but there seems to be some relief in his posterior now that he knows he is headed home.

 

“Let’s head out.” Bill says, pointing to the door.

 

“What’d you always tell Silver?” Mike grins, but Bill gives him a disapproving look. Telling him to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t. “Hi-yo!” It echoes throughout the large room, bouncing off the desks and windows.

 

Bill gives him a fond punch on the shoulder.

 

As they walk out the door of Bill’s office, Mike takes a look at the name plate. SSA Bill Denbrough. They’ve come far, he thinks, from where they had once been.

 

“I’m interviewing some people tomorrow.” Bill pipes up as they make their way towards the parking garage. He seems to have a hop in his step now that he’s out of the oppressing atmosphere of the office.

 

“Already trying to replace Tozier and Hanscom?” Mike jokes. “They haven’t failed their fitness exam yet.”

 

“The Bureau is opening up a position.” Bill still laughs at the joke. Neither of them have any real concerns of the two passing their fitness test, even though no one can imagine that duo running a mile. “You know, they never leave ‘em open for too long.”

 

“If they can’t help it.” Mike grins, remembering the ten that Bill had to interview before Mike would agree to come back to the unit.

 

“I’m not going through that hell again.” Bill digs around in his pocket for his keys, nodding at the security guard they pass. “First one that’s qualified is getting the spot.”

 

Mike seems skeptical as he looks for his own keys.

 

“I have a feeling you’re going to regret saying that, my friend.” Mike grins as they part ways.

  


2.

**COLONY CLUB COFFEE**

**QUANTICAO, VIRGINIA**

**7:12 AUGUST 25 2017**

                    

 

 

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

 

The man across the coffee shop was rhythmically tapping his teaspoon against the rim of his porcelain coffee cup. Every once in awhile, he missed a beat. Drawing attention to him. He seemed overdressed to be in a coffee shop too, even among the other patrons who were bustling their way to work.

 

_Clink. Clank. Clunk._

 

The man dropped his spoon, picked up his cup, and set it out away from his newspaper. He took up his whole table, not that Stan cared, but it was funny how this man seemed to be so grandiose.

 

The woman behind the counter had obviously been running late this morning. Everything she did seemed rushed, her hair was a mess, and she had seemed more anxious than she had any other morning. Out of the ordinary, disorganized, late.

 

Much like how Beverly was right now.

 

He hadn’t been waiting around long, and it wasn’t as if he was all that impatient. He wasn’t going to cry because his friend was seven minutes late. It’s really to be expected.

 

Every Friday that the pair spend in Washington D.C. started out at this coffee shop at 7:05. It had become one of Stan’s habits. Meeting at Colony Club Coffee had basically been ingrained into his biological rhythm. It didn’t skip a beat like that of the clinking from the man’s spoon.

 

A minute and thirty seven seconds later, the bells above the door rang. Stan didn’t even have to look up before he knew who it was.

 

Beverly Marsh herself was a force to be reckoned with, and she did nothing but stand out against the late 18th century decor that the coffee house used to establish some kind of atmosphere, as she had called it. Stan preferred to call it a theme since it felt superficial.

 

She somehow makes pinstripes look good, and her freckled cheeks appeared more prominent after their last case, which had taken place in Texas. God, Stan hated Texas more than anything else in the world. The people were rude, and he had been called a fucking pipe cleaner with eyes, and no one looked at Mike like he was a fucking person. Everyone was always leering at Bev. Texas? Deep, southern, ghost-town Texas, sucked the life out of him.

 

Bev smiled at him as she walked over, having her phone pressed to her ear. “Yeah, babe.” She grinned. Stan raised his eyebrows at her and all she responded with was a sly wink. “Mhm, just got here with Stan.”

 

There’s a female voice on the end of the phone that Stan can hear almost as clear as day. He notes that Beverly should probably turn her volume down just a smidge. “Lola says hello, Stan.” He mouths an _I know_ and she rolls her eyes at him. “Bye babe, ‘m already late so I’ll talk to you later.”

 

She snaps the phone shut and pulls out a seat. “See you didn’t wait for me.” It’s said lightly and she has a glint in her eye.

 

“I waited for five minutes.” He says, although the defensive tone in his voice is obviously that of someone who is joking.

 

“Some communication liaison you are, so eloquent.” She says, ruffling his curls and going to order. Luckily for her, the line at the counter had died down significantly and she was back with her plain black coffee in only a moments notice. Gracefully, she slid into the seat across from him, the boots on her feet making a far less graceful sound on the floor.

 

“How’s it been going with you, Stan?”

 

“Same as usual.” He sits up a little straighter in his seat as Bev slouches. “My doctor took me off Ativan at my appointment yesterday.”

 

He never took it for more than a few weeks at a time anyway, and he’s only ever had to taken it twice. Ativan. Used for treating restlessness and short term anxiety. It’s tough job, dealing with tragedy, and Stan is usually so good at hiding it. But God, the only time he needed the prescription was after they found some Satan worshipper feeding the rest of his town the thigh meat that he had gotten from women.

 

He wanted to shudder just at the thought. Bill had warned all of them on the effects that a case like that could have, whether they believed in a God or not.

 

Bev leans over the table and clasps his hands between her. “Proud of you, bub.” She says with all sincerity. Stan wants to tell her to not call him that, but Bev, much like Richie, had a thing for nicknames. And he doesn’t correct her on the fact that he can only take it for four weeks anyway and Wednesday had been a month since the original prescription.

 

He gently retracts his hands and picks up his coffee mug. “Enough about me.” The corners of his lips upturn. “How’s _Lola_?” The small smile practically turns into a smirk as he sips at his drink.

 

It launches her into a spiel, talking about how they’re arguing over whether to get a dog or a cat. Stan chimes in that maybe a goldfish would be best with their track records (they’ve killed more plants than Stan can count on his fingers and toes). She talks about how Lola is doing at her new job. She even throws in some unneeded details about her sex life, which Stan scrunches his nose at.

 

Time flies with Bev and before he knows it, it’s time to head to work. They walk side by side down the sidewalk. The August early morning sun seems to beat down on them favorably. There was a breeze and not one ugly busybody knocked into them as they walked to Stan’s car.

 

It was as if everything in the world was at peace.

  


**OFFICE OF THE BAU**

**QUANTICAO, VIRGINIA  
**   
**8:03 AUGUST 25 2017**

                           

 

                   

Sometimes Richie Tozier wonders why he still has his job.

 

He is chronically late, even if it is only every by fifteen minutes. He can’t remember the last time he cleaned his desk, but he remembers Stan bitching about it earlier in the week. He is constantly going off on tangents, which has Bev fondly asking for five minutes of her life back quite often.

 

There is one of those things that he can fix today, and cleaning his desk along with shutting his mouth was not on the agenda.

 

Today, Richie has convinced himself that he will only be late by five minutes. He can do it and he knows he can, because everyday it takes him only one minutes and 52 seconds to ride the elevator up to the sixth floor.

 

Luckily, he didn’t have to account for the time waiting for the elevator. He just saw a man, only catching a glance of his patent leather shoes, walk onto one.

 

“Hey! Hold that please!” Richie said, tripping over his long limbs and making his way towards the elevator as quickly as he could. The feeling of the coffee splashing around in his thermas reminded him to be just a little more careful.

 

Today Richie could feel some kind of deity smiling down on him because the man did hold the door for him. He gave the stranger a grateful nod and hurriedly stepped into the small elevator space.

 

“What floor?” Richie practically croaked, out of breath and looking at all of the buttons.

 

“Six.” Huh, that’s Richie’s floor. The floor of the BAU. He looks over and glances at the man. Shorted, with dark hair that looked meticulously cropped. He wore dark slacks, the aforementioned leather shoes, and a pink dress shirt. Richie presses the button and it was like a lightbulb lit off in his head.

 

“I know you.” He grinned, folding his hands in front of him as the elevator went up, up, up. The man glances at him rather doubtfully. “Karaoke at the Kitchner on closing night.” He waggles his brows. “You were there with my team.”

 

The man blushes furiously, looking down at his shoes. “The eighties really took a hit that night.”

 

“I thought that your rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun was inspirational.” Richie puts one hand over his chest as if to make his ridiculous statement sound more sincere. “And Agent Denbrough is practically David Bowie. Legend among men.”

 

“Have you been there recently?” Eddie laughs, eyes skirting across the elevator as if he was nervous. Refusing to make eye contact.

 

“It’s definitely still my scene. I’m presuming it’s yours too, by the way you keep looking at your shoes.” Richie grins. The Kitchner was a gay bar now. Plus, this guy wasn’t even on the team, even if he was still an agent. So the small little observation was okay.

 

The man doesn’t have anything to say to that, so Richie assumes he’s correct. The guy has got a bashful smile on his face, too. It’s accompanied by a blush. “And you’re Agent....?” He leaves it open ended for Richie to answer.

 

“Tozier.” He supplies. Leaning over, he whispers the next part in the man’s ear like it’s a secret. “But it’s not Agent. It’s Doctor.”

 

“Aren’t you a little young to be a-”

 

“I’m smart.” Richie interrupts, simplifying it to an extreme. The smile on his face never seems to waver. “And you are?”

 

“Eddie Kaspbrak. Agent from the Human Trafficking Unit.” It’s at that moment that the elevator dings, signalling they made it.                                           

 

Richie makes a grandiose gesture, allowing Eddie to leave the enclosed space first with a sweet _After you, good sir._ in a horrid British accent. “Boss man’s office is right there,” He points to a door across the floor. “Nice to meet you, Eds, and good luck.” He throws the guy a wink before walking in the opposite direction.

 

“Don’t call me that!” The man, Richie supposes he can call him Eddie, now huffs. He doesn’t pay it any mind.

 

Instead, he stands outside the door of his favorite analyst. Truly the best analyst in the history of analyst. And he doesn’t even knock before entering what seems to be some kind of cave.

 

“ _Haaaaystack_!” Richie practically sang.

 

In front of him sat three desks, approximately seven monitors, and a large wall filled with computer towers and other gadgets he didn’t recognize. Besides the monitors, the desk had knick knacks that Bev had picked up from some of her favorite places. The Golden Gate bridge appeared more than once, and Richie can remember all eighteen of the times he had been there with Bev.                                         

 

The man in question turned around in his chair tiredly. Richie knows that he brings a headache to bestow on someone wherever he goes, and he knows Ben assumes he’s the first victim. He already had his fingers pressed into his temples.

 

At least he hadn’t done something dramatic like groan like Stan always did.

 

“When we gonna work on that mile, Benny boy?”

 

Cue the groan then, because Ben must’ve forgotten. “Never.” His face is filled with dread and reflects exactly how Richie feels on the inside. “But tomorrow morning works if nothing comes up. Or the next morning you’re in town.”

 

“Morning? _Morning?_ ” The second is far louder than the first. Richie points to the center of his purple sweater clad chest as if to highlight the fact that he, in the morning, could barely even be considered a fraction of a person. “How ‘bout after work instead?”

 

Ben huffs in agreement, although it seems reluctant. He was the one with the ridiculous idea in his head that Richie would get out of bed earlier than normal just to run a few laps. “Have you ever even had to run a mile in the field?”

 

“Hell no, Bev does that all for me.” She could outrun all of them, Mike included. “We could ask for her help, y’know.”

 

Ben’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “Have you ever worked out with her?” He turns back to his computer and begins to type. “Because I have. She pushed me towards the brink of death. I thought I wasn’t going to come back.”

 

Richie rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Benginald. See you at the field.”      

 

Ben grumbles, and Richie heads out to his desk in time to see Agent Kaspbrak walking into Denbrough’s office.

 

Now _this_ was going to be a good day.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    


	2. by his questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voltaire once said "Judge a man by his questions rather than his answers."
> 
> Or, Eddie is hired. He has a lot of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention and slight description of corpses, although it's not too graphic because even I have to look away from the screen sometimes.

1.

**OFFICE OF THE BAU**

**QUANTICO, VIRGINIA**

**8:07 AUGUST 2** 5

 

Eddie Kaspbrak was nervous, to say the least.

 

He had been instructed head into SSA Denbrough’s office at 8:10 this morning. He was three minutes early. Would he think that he was too eager? Or that he should’ve even been earlier? He’s not even exactly sure what questions this man would ask him. He had a feeling it would go a little differently that his other ones.

 

The BAU was...something else, compared to other units. It seemed too easy to just walk in for an interview. Of course, he had been working for the Bureau for a while, but this team was highly specialized. Somewhat looked up to.

 

So Eddie felt, even after working for Bureau for this long, that it was justified to be a little bit nervous. Just a little bit. But he was also a grown man. Also, the man in the elevator, Richie Tozier, had wished him luck and he didn’t even seem all that concerned about his meeting. So maybe this guy wasn’t that bad.

 

The steps he takes into the man’s office seem incredibly more confident than he really feels. Eddie takes in the room around him. _Just a normal office_ , he tells himself. _This is just like SSA Hockstetters, no big deal._

 

The walls are taupe, the desk is mahogany, and nothing seems to be organized. A normal office. That’s all it is, just a normal office with some sort of prestige that is all in Eddie’s head. He knows it too. _That doesn’t make the prestige any less real._

 

Sitting at the mahogany desk is a lean but muscular man who seems to be making a valiant attempt to multitask. He had one hand clicking furiously on a mouse while his gray eyes scanned over a document that was sitting in front of him in a folder. His brow seemed furrowed in concentration.

 

“Hello, sir.” The voice doesn’t come out timid, and Eddie can hardly believe it comes out at all. “I’m Agent Eddie Kaspbrak and I’m here for the-”

 

Denbrough stands up in a moment, chair practically flying out from behind him. “Interview.” He finished for him. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Bill Denbrough,” He sticks out a hand, which Eddie gives a firm shake. One, two, three, just like he was taught in one of his communications classes in college. “Have a seat.”

 

Eddie complied, feeling the tension rush out of his shoulders and letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

 

“Excuse the mess,” Bill said, waving an arm to the obvious disaster that surrounded him. Eddie tried to, but it was difficult due to the fact that there was paper everywhere. Blue, pink, yellow, white, all tucked away inside manilla folders that looked as if they would topple at any moment. “It’s been a little hectic around here.”

 

Bill talks slow as he seems to sift through all of his paperwork. “I’ve got your file right…” He pauses, shuffling a little more. “Here.” It’s said almost triumphantly as he pulls it out from the stack in front of him and lays it out.

 

It’s odd to think that Eddie’s whole career is sitting there in one folder. Every misdemeanor (there were only two) and every success. Every evaluation that Hockstetter had typed up. His recommendations, how many days he had missed, his original job application that only had one item under previous work experience.

 

It was all sitting there on Bill Denbrough’s desk, ready to be scrutinized.

 

Eddie’s fingers fumbled in his laps as his feet nervously tapped on the rug that was sitting beneath his feet. _I can handle some criticism,_ he lied to himself.

 

The man across the desk from him pushed his auburn hair to the side and seemed to scan only the first few lines. “And I think you’re a perfect fit for the team.”

 

That couldn’t have been right, not at all. Agent Denbrough was looking at him, scanning his face, and Eddie didn’t know what to say. It’s as if is jaw had just stopped working, opening and closing like a fish. Finally, he managed to fumble out some words. Well...one.

 

“What?”

 

“I looked over your file,” Bill said, closing the folder and adding it back to the stack. “And you’re a perfect fit. You start right now, unless you have any questions.”

 

A smile broke across Eddie’s face. He wasn’t pulling his leg, he heard this guy correctly. Did he have any questions? He racked his brain for one. Nothing. He was coming up short. Did Bill expect him to have any? Should he have had one prepared? Wait!

 

“It usually takes me,” Eddie ducks his head and rubs the back of his next. “Months to bring one guy in. How do you guys manage-”

 

“Hey, boss.” A woman with fiery red curls poked her head in the door, not seeming to mind that she’s intruding. She grins when her eyes land on Eddie as if she had heard their whole conversation. “We’ve got a briefing in five. Be there or be square.”

 

“You know,” Eddie can hear an oddly familiar voice on the other side of the door. “The origins of that phrase only became popular after the 1950s when they took the original meaning of square, fair or honest, and twisted it to mean-”

 

The woman turns around to interrupt. “Unhip. Just like you. Stop dressing like a grandpa.” She peeks her head back in. “Sorry boys. Hope to see you a _round_.” She adds a wink.

 

“That is not the reason for the phrase and you know-”

 

The door seals shut and Eddie can no longer here Richie, who was obviously the one that was standing behind her.

 

“That’s Agent Beverly Marsh. Specializes in obsessive behaviors and explosives. Her and Dr. Tozier like to eavesdrop.” Bill says with a fond expression. He stands up from his seat and dusts off his pants. “I’m hoping you have some sort of to-go bag ready?”

 

“Always,” And Eddie wonders if he sounds just a bit too eager. “I’m like a boyscout.”

 

That makes his...boss laughs. “Whatever you do,” Bill grins and his eyes twinkle just a bit. “Don’t let Stan hear you say that.”

 

He doesn’t ask who Stan is as they walk towards the briefing room, figuring he’d meet the guy soon enough.

  


2.

 

**OFFICE OF THE BAU**

**QUANTICO, VIRGINIA**

**8:15 AUGUST 25**

 

“Get your feet off the table, Rich.” Bill can hear Stan grumping before he even steps foot in the briefing room. Richie does indeed have his feet on the table, and he seems incredibly cocky as he stretches out like a cat in his chair, tablet sitting in his lap.

 

“Make me, Uris.”

 

“Get your feet off the table, Tozier.” Bill walks in, Eddie in tow. Richie rushed to get his terrible battered dress shoes off of the tabletop and give a mock salute. Stan looked at Bill appreciatively, although his expression with Richie was fond.

 

Richie and Stan sat next to each other and Bev sat to Richie’s right. Mike sat on the other side of the table as if to avoid the trio’s antics all together. Ben stood at the front, ready to hand Bill his tablet. He remembers when they weren’t digital at all. More manilla folders. He shudders internally at the thought.

 

“Everybody,” He speaks up a bit, getting the attention of the small crew that sat in front of him. “This is Agent Eddie Kaspbrak. The newest member of our team.” Eddie doesn’t look to eager to say anything, and Bill motions for him to sit down.

 

“His interview was only five minutes long?” Richie leans over the table incredulously. “How could you possibly psyche him out in five minutes? I was gonna at least give you ten before he ran out of there crying.”

 

Bill opens his mouth to defend himself, but Mike jumps in. “You didn’t even have an interview, Richie.” He rolled his eyes. “You can’t be upset.”

 

“He has the right.” Bev says. Luckily her boots stay off of the table and she leans back in her chair instead, tablet balanced precariously on her stomach as if she’s a highschooler sitting in biology class instead of a profiler for the FBI.

 

“To be annoying?” Stan huffs. Bill looks between all three of them in an attempt for them to stop making themselves look like asses in front of Eddie.

 

“Okay!” Ben says, finally done listening to their bickering. “We ready to get this show on the road?” He bustles over to grab his own tablet from the podium that is sitting up front while his other hand wields the remote to the projector. “No objections? Okay.”

 

“Portland field office uncovered a mass grave with three bodies.” _Click_ . This was one of the less gruesome looking photos. Bodies, laid out, but no real damage or post mortem wounds were present. “They’re estimated to be killed around six months ago and another body was found nearby..” _Click._ This time, it’s close ups of the bodies, and Ben begins to point out the obvious.

 

“The causes of death range from burning alive to asphyxiation.” _Click._ Bill doesn’t flinch at the burn victim, as much as he wants to/ “Rape kits were ran and there’s no sign of sexual assault.” He looks at them clearly as if to signal it was their turn to do their job.

 

“The torture is clearly sadistic.” Eddie points out, provided with a tablet of his own as he swipes through the photos. “Lack of sexual preference makes it hard to tell if the unsub is male or female.”

 

Bill hums in agreement, but Richie seems to disagree. “Female serial killers stick to the same M.O typically. This guy is all over the place.”

 

“Quite the renaissance man,” Bev says, spinning lazily in her chair. Stan snorts, and Mike looks at them all disapprovingly. Bill just watches them all interact.

 

 _Click._ “Most recent victim is a girl by the name of Jenny Wittman. Discovered yesterday.” A headshot of her along with her corpse appear on the screen. “She was asphyxiated.”

 

“How long was she missing?” Bill huffed, pressing his eyes shut and moving the hair out of his face. God, he needed a haircut.

 

“Never reported missing.”

 

“And the others?” Bill said it as if to be hopeful.

 

“Only one.” Ben said.

 

“One of four?” Mike’s eyebrows stitched together in confusion.

 

“Rick Holland was reported missing almost nine months ago. They called off the search,” Ben confirmed. “Family discovered his car at the train station. Even more important, they received emails from him saying that he needed some time to figure things out.”

 

“And they really bought that?” Eddie said, and with every picture Bill could see more and more questions pop into the man’s brain.

 

“It’s better than accepting the alternative.” Bev sighed. “But reaching out could definitely be a sign of remorse.”

 

Bill shook his head, definitely not agreeing. “This guy is a psychopath. He’s not apologizing for his behavior, he’s just covering his tracks.”

 

“It’s definitely working.” Mike mummered. “Three victims he buried in one grave, and then only Jenny Wittman in the other. Possible pattern?”

 

“It’s really hard to tell with there only being four bodies.” Richie chimed in. “But if there is…” He pressed his lips together. “One down and two to go.” Bill watched as the man’s fingers went to fidget with his collar, a nervous tick.

 

At the beginning of a particularly hard case, SSA Bill Denbrough will look at his friends as they sit around the table after the briefing.

Richie Tozier always looked so focused, even if he was anything but. Ben Hanscom's hands gripped the remote to the project and clicked through the images as if they weren't terrifying. To his left, Stanley always sat with his back straight, posture perfect as always. Beverly Marsh, in contrast, slouched in her seat. It seems a new set of early onset crows feet lie around Mike Hanlon's eyes every time he used his tablet to flip through his own documents. Eddie Kaspbrak, their brand new edition, looked like he knew he had something to prove.

"Wheels up in thirty." He said definitively.

He watched as they all stood, prepared to close another case that had shown up on their table.

 

 

3.

 

**THE BAU JET**

**OVER MASSACHUSETTS**

**10:13 AUGUST 25**

  


Eddie Kaspbrak is sitting directly across from Stan.

 

There’s a whole jet, and even if Richie is lounging lazily across the couch listening to some audiobook, there are other chairs for this guy to occupy. Stan has work to do, he always has work to do. He really cannot afford to listen to this guy’s life story, or whatever his intentions are.

 

“I’m Eddie Kaspbrak.” He says, fingers folded politely on the table that sits between them.

 

Stan glances up from his papers, putting his mental checklist on a slight hold. He has to contact the sheriff, along with the chief of police, and somehow get a press conference to happen in a town like Portland. It wasn’t small, so holding a meeting with the a few newspaper journalists wasn’t an option. It wasn’t a large city either, so there would be no reason for broadcasting unless it was done by the one local radio station.

 

“We’re all quite aware of that.” He says a little stiffly, pushing his curls out of his face. “Billy did introduce us to you after all.”

 

Eddie’s face falls a little bit, as if he didn’t take his hasty introduction at the briefing into account. “Billy? You guys call him that? Isn’t that a little unprofessional?” His face is a mix of amusement and confusion, and Stan wonders if his face will get stuck like that.

 

Stan’s eyes go back down to his folder, filled with names, locations, phone numbers, and other information that he has to synthesize in his brain sometime over the next hour or two. “ _We_ don’t call him that. _I_ do.”

 

“Hmph,” Eddie makes the noise noncommittally. “That’s odd.”

 

Stan shoots him a look without lifting his head. Eddie doesn’t cower.

 

“It’s just that,” He taps his fingers against his chin. “Aren’t you supposed to be more formal? Isn’t he your boss? I couldn’t ever imagine calling my boss by his first name, much less his nickname-”

 

“Bill and I have known each other for a long time.” Stan practically spits out. He can’t see the reaction on Eddie’s face, but he knows that Eddie will not be getting any sort of answer out of him. “And frankly, it’s none of your business.” He pulls out a map and begins looking at the directions that coincide with them.

 

Eddie doesn’t talk much after that.

 

A few minutes later, Richie hops up from his place on the couch and comes to inspect what Stan is doing. “Workin’ hard there, Stan the Man. Want a coffee?”

 

“Thanks, Rich.” Stan mumbles after nodding. Richie ruffles his curls and grins, doing everything short of pressing a kiss to his cheek. Bill had told him he had to start having boundaries a few months ago.

 

The interaction seems to piques Eddie’s interest again. “You two seem close.”

 

Stan huffs in annoyance but Agent Kaspbrak doesn’t seem to deter. He glances back over his shoulder at Richie, who’s at the coffee machine. The buffoon grabs two packets of sugar, tearing them open with his teeth, and pouring them in. He doesn’t add creamer. Just how Stan likes it.

 

A small smile tugs at Stan’s lips despite how grouchy he felt. “He’s my best friend.”

 

“Your best friend?” And did this guy question literally anything that came out of Stan’s mouth? It was getting a little old on this end. “He seems to be a good one.”

 

“He is.” Stan says, trying to ease the atmosphere somewhat. He’s never really been good at small talk. “He’s very predictable too. He’s going to come over here, hand me my coffee with two sugars, and comment on how I’m grouchy and switch to tea. All in a British accent.”

 

Eddie seems to doubt that and he expresses that with a raise of the eyebrows. Stanley mirrors him as if it’s a challenge.

 

After Richie spends more time fumbling with the coffee machine, he comes back with one cup in his hand. He passes it to Stan and ruffles his curls again. “Aye, ole chap. Yer quite grouchy, ever thought a goin’ for a cuppa tea instead?”

 

Stan grins and watches as Eddie’s eyebrows raise comically. Richie, as observant as the rest of them, catches on. “What’s so funny there, Eds?”

 

“He- Uh, Stan. Just, he. How did you-” Eddie begins to splutter, pointing a weak index finger in Stan’s direction. Stan was grinning triumphantly as he sipped on his coffee, looking back down at his papers. “Yuh- you guys are messing- that’s not. Why are you guys-”

 

“If you don’t calm down, you’re going to have an aneurysm.” Stan says cooly as the steam from his coffee rises towards his face.

 

Richie nestles himself back into his spot on the couch, starting to put his earbuds back in. “Actually, our boy Eds would have to have a history of high blood pressure and probably some hereditary factors to be suffering from a brain aneurysm. And, he’d probably be complaining about a headache.”

 

“You’re the headache.” Stan says flippantly. Richie looks offended, but puts his headphones back in. Stan can hear the faint sound of some audio book, since Richie is always turning up the volume way too loud.

 

Eddie seemed to have regained his composure at that point. “How did you know that?”

 

“I’m communications coordinator, but my secondary position is Tozier tamer.”

 

“You don’t seem all that funny from first glance,” Eddie says dubiously, scanning over Stan. “But you have a sense of humor.”

 

_“C’mon Stanny.” Richie threw an arm around his shoulder._

 

_They were standing on a dirt road in the middle of Nebraska. A woman, who had just shot her husband, was being carted in the back of a police car. One of their key witnesses sat shaking. Stan stood there, observing the whole scene rigidly._

 

_When Stan didn’t respond, Richie grew somber. “What’s wrong Stan? I know you’re not that funny but you’ve got some sense of humor.”_

 

_“Nothing.” Stan said shortly._

 

_Richie, out of words for once, seemed to be gathering his thoughts as he looked at the scene before him. “I know,” He begins, clearing his throat and adjusting his god awful tie. “That you see every case that comes through our office. And that you choose ‘em too.”_

 

_“That’s in the job description.” Stan says, pointing out the obvious._

 

_“Doesn’t make it any easier.” Richie isn’t scanning the scene like Stan is. Instead he was scanning his companions face. “Don’t think I don’t notice the pattern.”_

 

_“There’s not a pattern.” Stan denies it. He doesn’t intentionally pick out the cases. There’s no criteria he follows. It’s simply by urgency, total loss of life, and how many more people would die._

_When he was younger, his father always wanted him to be an actuary. Stan thought the whole idea of estimating when people were going to die was morbid. There, in a file, you had their whole life in their hands. And you put the numbers in an equation and it spits an age back out at you._

 

_He supposed this job wasn’t much different. He sifted through the files and all the ones he passed up just meant another death sooner or later. There are plenty of people who had probably died thanks to him._

 

_“Yeah, there is.” Richie said, interrupting whatever was going on in Stan’s head. “I know you better than I know anyone.”_

 

_“That’s not saying a lot, Rich.” Stan grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt oddly exposed. Richie could know everything about someone from just standing in the center of their room, or taking a look at their computer._

 

_“Mhm, yes it is.” Richie said. “I notice all the cases with deal with. Usually compulsive behaviors. Ritualistic killers. Kids, sometimes. I see it, Stan.”_

 

_Stan doesn’t say anything to that._

 

_“I know it’s hard. Choosing them. I’m not blaming you or saying it’s wrong.” Richie amends his statement. “If you need something, I’m here. You know that?”_

 

_“If I don’t care, I’m jaded.” Stan’s voice cracks on the words. “If I care too much, I’m too emotional for the job.”_

 

_Richie, surprisingly enough, pulls Stan into an unwarranted hug and buries his face in the crook of Stan’s neck. His long hair tickles Stan's nose just a tad.“Stan Uris,” he laughs. “Too emotional.”_

 

_Stan finds himself smiling._

 

_“You’re my best friend, Stan. Stan the man, Stanley the manly. Stanny boy-”_

 

_“Okay!” He pushes Richie off and laughs. Mike and Bill are watching the scene from over by the black SUV. “Okay, okay! I get it.”_

 

Eddie stares at him expectantly, as if Stan should have some profound reason or response. Like Stan has all the answers to Eddie’s thousand questions.

 

“He’s my best friend,” He says simply. He glances over at the couch, just to catch a peek of Richie almost dozing off. “Always will be.”

 


	3. the law of life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john f. kennedy once said "change is the law of life and those who only look to the past or present are sure to miss the future."
> 
> things are changing for the bau

1.

 

THE BAU JET

OVER MASSACHUSETTS

10:25 AUGUST 25

 

“Portland found some stuff, right Stan?” Bev said, flipping through her tablet with her feet kicked up on the table. Her skirt is tight enough around her thighs that it doesn’t ride up, but she still throws Richie a scowl when he pretends to look.

 

Bev hated plane rides more than she hated most things. More than when Mike would drum his fingers on the table or when Richie would click his pen. Even more than Stan going through his files fifty times when he knew they were all right or when Ben types while simultaneously making eye contact. She bet even Eddie had something probably. She hadn’t been able to get quite the read on him.

 

“Mhm,” Stan mutters out as he shuffles through some files. “Mike has those papers, if he would be a dear and hand them out.”

 

“Mikey, my maaaan.” Richie drawls out from his spot on the couch. He makes grabby hands towards the older man, not even bothering to sit up like. Bev finds herself smiling “Hand ‘em over.”

 

Bev notices Eddie is sitting across from Stan still, which is a bold move considering the kind of mood Stan has been in lately. So controversial, yet so brave. That’s what Lola would say anyway. She hadn’t met Eddie of course, it was only his first day on the job and Bev had barely even gotten acquainted with him, but Lola would say he has a spitfire personality. 

 

“One female and two male victims found in the same grave.” Bill mutters, shuffling through his new file. Bev knew that he was about sick of manilla folders by now.

 

Bev nods, swinging her legs off of the table and leaning forward. “All between the ages of twenty five and thirty.”

 

Eddie clears his throat a bit, obviously waiting for his turn to speak as he skims through the file. “I just can’t believe-” He pauses, some kind of emotion spilling into his voice. Bev watches carefully as he schools his features. “They’ve been dead for six months.”

 

Bev is kind of glad that Eddie is catching on quickly. It’ll definitely take him a while to separate things, it all took them a bit. Even Stan, cool and calculated, still had trouble sometimes. Mike, who had the most experience out of all of them and practically wrote the book on what they do, was the best at it. 

 

“Sounds like three different MO's to me.” Stan pipes up, voice startling Bev a little bit, not looking up from the work he was currently doing.

 

“Yeah,” Bev agrees wholeheartedly. “You remember Gary Taylor?”

 

The man had started with women at bus stops in the open light, then went to sniping down women in the dark of night like a coward. All before wrapping them up in plastic and burying them in his backyard. He was everywhere, too many different MOs to keep track of.

 

Richie practically rolls off the couch at the mention of him. “The Phantom Sniper? Who could forget.” He says, like he isn’t the one who couldn’t forget anything. He could probably tell Bev what she had for breakfast three weeks ago. “Just as all over the place as this guy. Mostly due to the fact that he needed to change as the situation did.”

 

“What about the new grave?” Mike said, obviously not finding much to gain from their current conversation. He was always one to keep them on track, always one to find the best route of discussion. He may have no known the most, but he was definitely the most experienced out of all of them.

“Female.” Bill says. “Twenty eight and dead for approximately forty-eight hours.”

 

Richie got up and made his way to be closer with the rest of the group, practically standing over Bill’s shoulder as if he didn’t have a file of his own. “Good thing this guys dump site was compromised.”

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rich.” Bev said, getting to the edge of her seat. “He’ll know that we’re on to him, could work against us.”

 

Mike stops her. “He could possibly make a mistake, probably will make a mistake.”

 

“Hey you.” A voice said. Bev whipped her head around to see where it was coming from. Richie seemed to have the same idea as he looked back at the wall he was standing against, investigating where the noise could’ve come from. He always started looking up, and making his way- “Hey. Down here.”

 

“I knew that.” Richie said, readjusting the laptop that was sitting on the table. It had been sitting in just a way that the webcam was pointed down at Bill’s shoes. 

 

There Ben was, obviously having been there the whole time without anyone recognizing his presence. “It’s a good thing you have some redeeming qualities, Doctor.” It’s smug and teasing all at the same time.

 

“Did you hear that, guys? Benny boy says I have some redeeming qualities.” Richie squawks, practically thrumming with false excitement. “Might as well book your hotel rooms now, we’re obviously gonna get hitched next time he gets out of that office.”

 

Bev rolls her eyes at Richie’s antics and stands up so she is in view of the webcam. “Hey Ben.” She says warmly, blowing a kiss in his direction. “What’ve you got?”

 

She doesn’t point out the fact that his cheeks go all ruddy as he begins clicking and typing away on his computer. “Well, turns out that our guy managed to stoop lower by posing as his victims.” He snuffs. “He managed to manipulate two of the families into thinking that the victims were okay before they could file a missing persons report.”

 

Bev wanted to stick out her tongue, but she refrained.

 

“One of the fake emails was from their daughter. Said that she met a guy and he was taking her to Australia for a few weeks. Turns out it’s her favorite place.” Ben adds.

 

“So the guy knows a lot about his victims.” Eddie butts in, and Bev is kind of proud of him. She sends him a look, a warm one that she hopes exudes  _ good job.  _ He turns a bit red at the look, but she figures it gets the job done.

 

Richie looks a bit perturbed. “How did he manage to get their emails?” 

 

Bev is wondering the same thing, but she’s also wondering if Richie even knows how email works. He rarely checks his. One time she had sent him an email labelled with URGENT and he still took two weeks to respond to it.

 

“He keeps the username the same, but he uses a different domain.” Ben says, wiping at his brow. “The families never noticed. I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”

 

“Love ya, Ben!” She manages to get out before he’s disappearing from the screen. Ben, being the freak of nature that he was, would probably be asking to speak to her on the phone in only a few hours with new information that would take someone else hours to fine. That’s just how he worked.

 

Richie takes back his rightful place, spread out like a cat on the couch. “Man,” He yawns. “This guy is creative.”

 

“Let’s double check the details.” Bill mutters, chewing on the end of his pen. It was obvious that it was a tick of his, since any writing utensil that Bill has ever touched looked like it was thrown to the wolves. 

  
  


LANDING STRIP

PORTLAND, MAINE

11:00 AUGUST 25

 

“Who drives?” Eddie says as he climbs off the jet, bag slung over his shoulder.

 

“Me.” Stan, Mike, and Bill say in unison.

 

Richie laughed at the absolute surprise on Eddie’s face. Did he think that they drove in one big church van? 

 

He supposes that is the case when they make it to the black SUVs and the aforementioned drivers climb inside. Eddie doesn’t seem to know exactly where to go, and Richie feels a bit bad for his previous laughter. Maybe he should lighten up on this guy, because really? 

 

Richie remembers exactly what it’s like to be the new guy. Everyone calling him kid. No one taking him seriously when he could run circles around the agents that were twenty years old than him.

 

_ “Who’re you?” The man speaks through the screen door with a deep southern drawl. It’s humid out here, mosquitoes are everywhere, and Richie is pretty sure this guy could kill him and Mike while managing to hide the bodies. Without getting caught.  _

 

_ Richie had never been particularly good with guys that were bigger than him. Yeah, he’s tall. But he’s thin and has no muscles and thinks he could probably get taken down without a second though. _

 

_ “Well, sir.” He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls his badge out. “We’re here with the F-” _

 

_ The guy sneers, cutting him off. “We don’t wanna talk to you. We don’t have to talk to you.” He goes to slam the door. _

 

_ “Actually sir, you do. Or we can get a search warrant!” Richie calls out. It’s a tad snarky, and extremely condescending. Just like everything Richie tends to say. “Whatever you think may be more convenient for you.” _

 

_ The door goes swinging the other direction, hitting the wall of the house with a big bang. Richie jumps a bit, feeling the rattling all the way to his bones. The guy is mad, oh Richie has made him so mad. It’s only his second month doing this and he’s going to die out here in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of Louisiana. _

 

_ Mike grabs Richie by the arm, pulling him to the side so now Mike is standing in the man’s direct line of sight. He goes to protest, wants to be the one standing in front of those rickety porch steps, but Mike gives him the look. The look that says he’s been stupid and unnecessarily brave.  _

 

_ “Sir,” Mike starts. “Sorry about Dr. Tozier here. I’m Agent Michael Hanlon.” The man behind the screen looks a little surprised at the word doctor. “But we would like to talk to you on your own time, no search warrant necessary.” _

 

_ The man grumbles a bit before walking down the steps, boards creaking in protest under his feet. “Keep your pipe cleaner with eyes under control, Michael.” _

 

_ Richie raises his eyebrows, but Mike just elbows him in the side. “Will do sir,” Mike complies. “Will do.” _

 

_ God, they both hated Texas. _

 

“You hop on in with Stan, m’kay Eds?” Richie says, pushing him towards the truck. 

 

The shorter man looks a little affronted by having to ride with Stan of all people, as if Stan had already gotten into his head on the jet. He doesn’t comment on his carpooling situation though, and instead goes to comment on the nickname. “Don’t call-”

 

“You that. Got it, Eds.” Richie jokes. He turns towards the rest of the group. “I’ll go with Mikey and Bev can ride with Bill.”

 

There’s not much that Richie thinks is right in the world. He’s going to spend most of his life and potential catching the bad guys. Shutting down evil. They pitch, he swings, and it’s almost always a homerun when he puts someone in jail. It’s a tireless routine, nothing about it really challenges him intellectually. He sees twenty-something college students starting million dollar companies and he has too many certificates to count, and here he is. Working for the government.

 

As he climbs into the SUV, Mike taking the driver’s seat. He thinks about it. 

 

He could be anywhere in the world right now. He could work just about anywhere. He can’t think of one place that wouldn’t hire him on the spot, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just the seven of them.

 

Mike used to call them the Lucky Six, but Lucky Seven sounds better. That sounds right. The Lucky Seven.

  
  
  


3.

 

ON THE ROAD

PORTLAND, MAINE

11:03 AUGUST 25

 

“How’s it going, Bill?” 

 

Beverly is sitting the passenger seat, lounging about like she owns the place. Her head is tilted towards the ceiling, shades over her eyes, and it looks like nothing could bother her.

 

Bill has always thought Beverly was kind of beautiful. He thinks maybe if they had met when they were younger, back in school perhaps, he would’ve had the biggest crush on her. She’s fiery and confident, she’s warm and kind. The woman has a way of being concerned without being overbearing.

 

She’s there glue, he thinks, and if she left they would all soon follow.

 

“It’s going.” Bill says tightly as he puts the keys into the ignition. “Just paperwork, Audra, you know. The works.”

 

Her mouth quirks up a bit and she peers over her sunglasses. “The works?” There’s a lilt in her voice that Bill can’t quite place, like she doesn’t believe him or he just told a pathetic joke. It’s probably a little bit of both, he assumes.

 

“Yes, the works.” Bill affirms, like there’s nothing more to it.

 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Bill. You know that, right?” The joking in her voice is gone, replaced with something a little more serious. Caring, warm. Beverly. 

He resists the urge to lay his forehead against the steering wheel and hits the gas instead. They’re on a schedule after all. “Yeah.” Bill says. “I know.” He keeps his eyes on the road as they pull out of the parking lot.

 

“Then why are you?”

 

“It’s more of the omission of truth.” Bill admits guiltily. “I haven’t told anyone.”

 

Bill can hear Bev moving around in her seat, no longer in a reclining position. She’s sitting up now, a bit more serious that she had been before, taking off her sunglasses and hanging them on the neckline of her shirt. Her posture says go on, keep talking,  _ please tell me what’s going on.  _

 

His fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Bill wasn’t exactly prepared to tell anyone how screwed up things were in his house, home, whatever. But Bev could keep a secret, he knew Bev could keep a secret.

 

“Audra and I are getting a divorce.”

 

“Oh,” She says lamely. Because there’s no appropriate response and he knows there isn’t but somehow he was still expecting more. Something with some substance.

 

“She says she doesn’t know me well enough, that I’m not emotionally available.” Bill bites his lip as they come up to a stop light.

 

“That’s ridiculous.” Bev’s freckled nose scrunches up a bit. “You’ve lived with Audra for years. You’ve been married for years. You guys went to college together. How are you _ emotionally unavailable _ ?”

 

Bev is right about most things, but this is something she is wrong about. Audra is right. Audra, who he went to college with, who he bought his first house with, who imagined having kids with someday. Audra, who he wasn’t always completely honest with.

 

“I never told her about my brother.” Bill mumbles.

 

“Oh,” The fight seems to seep out of Bev in that moment. She realizes there’s no way to defend him, he knows it.

 

“She just found out two nights ago.” He adds, as if that’s enough of an explanation.

 

“And you’re signing divorce papers because of that?” She says incredulously.

 

Bill can think of a thousand reasons that they’re actually signing the divorce papers. Georgie Denbrough was just the icing on the cake, the disappearance that Bill had erased from his memory and only remembered when he was going through Maine case files. It’s not Audra’s fault. It’s his fault, he presumes, because there is no one else to blame. Unless he decided to blame the ghost of his brother, but that just didn’t seem fair to him.

 

“Yeah, she’ll be happier.” He says once the light changes to green.

 

And that’s what love is, he thinks bitterly. Love is giving up familiarity and the past so the other person can be happy. You don’t stop loving them just because it’s over, or it was never love in the first place. Audra will be happier, and that’s what matters to Bill. He’ll figure himself out along the way.

 

“Happier,” Bev echoes. “But what about you?”

  
  



	4. no matter how dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “no matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible.” george chakiris.
> 
> the investigation starts.

1.

 

PORTLAND FIELD OFFICE 

PORTLAND, MARYLAND 

11:03 AUGUST 25

 

“You guys must be the BAU.” A man says  from a table as he shuffles through files. No one else in the bull pen of the Portland office seems to want anything to do with them. “I'm Special Agent Mellon, but y'all can call me Adrian.”

 

“Stanley Uris.” He says, sticking out his hand in a firm handshake. Stan has files of his own, a large stack, that he is balancing precariously in his left arm. Richie had tried to grab them earlier, but he could think of fifty different ways for his files to end up on the floor if that happened. Besides, Stan would rather hold them tightly. They almost feel like a shield, something nice to hide behind if needed.

 

Behind Adrian, there's a cork board with a variety of pictures. They all make Stan’s stomach churn. He still hasn't gotten used to any of it. After all this work, he still wasn't used to it. And Ben had even mentioned that maybe he should apply to be an agent sometime soon. At this rate it was never going to happen. 

 

The silence must've gotten too long because Stan can hear Mike clear his throat a little too loud over his shoulder.

 

Oh, right. His job. 

 

“This is SSA Denbrough.” He introduces, and he feels a bit like Vanna White or any other lady put on GSN.  _ Stanley Uris, please show us what's behind door number one…. oh, a devilishly handsome SSA!  _ The feeling never goes away, even after his years of experience. He can joke about it back in his own bullpen, but not this one. Not with a murder staring everyone directly in the face.

 

Adrian shakes his hand, but it's not long before his attention is draw elsewhere. More specifically to Richie, who's nose is almost pressed into what Adrian seemed to be working on before only moments before they arrive. 

 

“That's Doctor Tozier.” Stan says, although Richie doesn't look up or shake Adrian's hand. Istead, the man’s hands recede so far into his pockets as if they were not just snooping around. So  _ now  _ he's choosing to turn off the charisma. Stan resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

 

“Then we have agents Kaspbrak, Hanlon, and Marsh with us.” Bill motions behind him to where the three are standing, overnight bags in hand. 

 

“It's nice to meet you all. Thanks for comin’ down. If there's anyway I can help, just let me know. Not everyday you've got the BAU in Maine.”

 

He hears Mike chortle behind him, but it is silenced from what Stan assumes is Beverly the only one in the group who was from Maine. Stan would say that he remembers that from being great friends, but if Mike had never joked about lobster or a moose every now and then, he was sure he would forget.

 

“We wish it were under better circumstances.” Stanley said, moving in on the table to set his stuff down. Once he did, it felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. All the files he rummaged through really did feel like baggage. 

 

He's always thought of leaving, Richie's even told him that it might be the best for his mental health. But he's good at his job and he can't imagine doing something else. He worked so hard just to become a communication liaison for the BAU, and that wasn't even that prestigious. It beats all the dreams that his father and mother had for him though, and that's what matters. 

 

Bill has always thought he could do more, and he trusts Bill’s opinion, but he is so happy where he is right now.

 

“I think-”

 

_ “I think I'm leaving.” Bill says, sitting in a chair on the other side of Stanley's desk.  _

 

_ It feels so opposite from what their usual dynamic is. Usually it's Bill who calls Stanley into  _ **_his_ ** _ office, and Stan will sit across from him and brace for impact.  _

 

_ He doesn't like feeling like he failed Bill.  _

 

_ However, this time Bill showed up in Stanley's office, which feels more like a shoebox, and asked to speak to him.  _

 

_ He likes having his own orderly office like Mike and Bill have. Richie and Bev have desks in the bull pen and it's just too overwhelming for Stanley. Here he can have all of his files alphabetized, post-it's organized, and pens in order by how long ago he bought them. Before, it was always a fear that someone else could sit down and disturb the system he had.  _

 

_ “Leaving?” Stanley's pen stopped writing on the paper, starting to leave a blob of ink under the point. It would stand out among the rest of his neat handwriting.  _

 

_ “Yes,” Bill looks uncomfortable, but he's still slouched back in the chair. Nothing would pull him from that exhaustion, Stanley knows it. “Audra thinks it's best for me to get an easier job.” _

 

_ “An easier job is less rewarding.” Stan said, as if he was reading off a script. He could pull out anything anyone told him when he was trying to choose colleges, trying to choose a career path. The issue with Stan is, he's sensitive. The upside is that he's good at hiding it. He doesn't want Bill to know how upset he is just by the idea of him no longer being on the team.  _

 

_ Bill rubs his hands across his face. “I know.” _

 

_ “So don't leave.” Stan continued his writing then. In his head, it was obvious. What could possibly be holding him back from staying? What could be trying to push him out the door- _

 

_ “Audra doesn’t think it's practical.” Bill shrugs. “I'm gone all the time-” _

 

_ “We all are.” Stan interrupts tearsley. He doesn't miss the way Bills face falls.  _

 

_ He's not sure if Bill exactly knows his feelings on Audra, but they're strong ones. Not feelings, he guesses, but more like opinions. Strongly worded opinions that only seemed to get worse everytime Bill mentioned her _

 

_ He would never admit that it was probably jealousy.  _

 

_ Instead he says that she’s controlling, or she pushes Bill too much. Every story is another ‘Audra thinks I should…’ scenario. _

 

_ “Tha-That's not why I'm here though.” Bill said, sitting up a little straighter. He's one of those guys who can never sit still for too long unless he's thinking about it. Bad at settling. “I had an idea.” _

 

_ Stanley wanted to ask him if it was bad as him leaving, but he refrained. Instead, he just looked up from his paper. It was the first time he had done so during the whole conversation, and he was still hesitant about it.  _

 

_ “You should become a profiler.” _

 

_ Stan scoffs, letting out something closer to a laugh. It's one of the most ridiculous things that Bill has ever suggested. Stan knows that he could, it’s possible with the right paperwork. He knows every paperwork route imaginable, but that doesn’t mean he could handle it emotionally. _

 

_ “It's not as far fetched as you may think, Stan. You could.” _

 

_ “After you leave.” Stan finished the sentence for him. The grip on his pen probably could probably break it in half.  _

 

_ “Yeah.” Bill said, and he sounded almost sad about it. Like he really didn't want to leave. Like he was just going through the motions to keep his wife happy.  _

 

_ Stan sets down his pen and looks at Bill for a moment. “Please don't go.” And it sounded more like a plea than he intended.  _ **_Please don't, please don't, please don't._ **

 

_ “I can stay in your office a little-” _

 

_ “You know what I mean.” _

 

_ Luckily for him, Bill did. And Bill stayed. _

 

“-we’ll be fine for a while, Agent Mellon. Thanks for all your help.” Bill finished. Mellon walked away from the group after that, no longer needing any prompting and presumably going back to whatever he was doing before. Bill turned to his team. “Bev and Eddie, you mind checking out the site?”

 

“Not a problem,” Bev says confidently. She puts a hand in the crook of Eddie’s elbow and leads them away, promising to call if they come up with anything. 

 

Bill looks at the three of them that are left. “Mike, you want to wait here and piece together some updates? I’ll take Richie with me to the last victim’s apartment.”

 

Mike, Stan knows, is not the biggest fan of field work. He doesn’t mind sticking behind and thinking things through. He’s the best at putting together the pieces of any puzzle.

 

“Stanley.” Bill says. His head snaps up to look his boss in the eyes. “You can go with us, if you’d like.”

  
  


2.

 

MASS GRAVE SITE

PORTLAND, MARYLAND 

13:16 AUGUST 25

 

“Usually Mike goes with me to work out all of this stuff.” Bev says as her combat boots crunch in the grass. Eddie supposes that the sound shouldn’t be so unsettling, but the trail they are walking on has a less than welcoming atmosphere already. 

 

He makes careful work of following her footsteps closely, not wanting to disrupt the surrounding area. Or step in anything he will regret later.

 

Eddie knows that Beverly’s comment isn’t to upset him in anyway. She is just stating facts. Mike has been working on cases like this since before the BAU existed, and he is part of the reason that the unit exists. 

 

Mike probably wouldn’t have been as horrified as Eddie was when they came onto the scene. Eddie is tough, he is, but now that he’s walked away from the grave site? He is pretty sure that image will be burned into his brain forever. The bodies had been recovered, but imagining them out here to-

 

“Woah!” Beverly said as a log practically crumbled under her foot. “Don’t step on that, Kaspbrak. Wood rot.”

 

Rot. Just like everything in this godforsaken forest. He couldn’t imagine anyone taking time out of their weekend to take a nice little walk down any of these trails. 

 

“Anything you wanna talk about?” Beverly said as they walked out into the open up a steep incline. Eddie does wish he brought sturdy boots like hers, or just shoes that went a little farther than his ankle. The mud did not treat him kindly. “You’re awful quiet back there.”

 

“No.” He said shortly, climbing up into the SUV. “I’m all good.”

 

Beverly hopped into the driver's seat with a lot more grace. Eddie knows that way back when, maybe as far back as middle school, Beverly would be the kind of girl that Eddie would trick himself into having a crush on. She’s daring and bright, and has an energy about her that is just magnetic.

 

Eddie is an adult now, and graceful people like Beverly are still an anomaly. He hasn’t met someone of her caliber in a moment.

 

“Richie thinks highly of you, you know.” She says as she turns on the vehicle. She tries like she knows exactly where she’s going, which is an impressive front considering neither of them do. “And your karaoke skills.”

 

Eddie goes beet red.

 

“I’d rather not talk about it.” 

 

“Oh, that’s cute.” Beverly says without taking her eyes off of the road. “He says that about you too.”

 

Eddie’s face scrunched up. He felt embarrassed, or as his young niece would say ‘put on blast’. God, if she even knew he had thought that sentence he would be found dead on sight.

 

“Give me your cellphone. Not the work one.” She held out a hand. Eddie rose his eyebrows, but complied. She was impossible not to listen to and he probably wouldn’t be the first to admit that. She grabs it, before turning the screen towards him so he can unlock it. With a few taps, she seems content. “Don’t tell Bill, I’m not supposed to encourage this.”

 

When the phone is handed back, he looks down. A new contact. ‘Richie (Personal)’.

  
  


2.

 

BETTY RIPSOM’S APARTMENT

PORTLAND, MARYLAND 

13:16 AUGUST 25

 

Richie could say he was a little frustrated, not being taken seriously. He was glad to be out of the office and out in the field, because he was definitely getting agitated. Now, walking into the creaky old building that was home to Betty Ripsom seemed a lot worse than hanging around the bullpen with Mellon.

 

“Her apartment was on the fourth floor.” Stan says as Richie presses the elevator button.

 

Inside the shaft comes a creaking noise before there is a ding, the elevator doors opening. Stan looks reprehensible from all of the ruckus. Richie and Bill, on the other hand, step right inside of the supposed death trap. 

 

“C’mon Stan.” Richie said, hand held over the sensor to stop the door from abruptly shutting. However, his best friend did not look like he would be stepping through. He looked at Richie as if to say, ‘Would you really trust that the doors won’t smash your hands?’

 

Stan shuffled back a bit. “I’m gonna...meet you up there.”

 

Richie looked skeptical, but he knew that Stan didn’t like to be pushed. “Suit yourself.” He said, releasing the door so it could close. 

The elevator itself was incredibly tight of a fit, and Richie is sort of glad that Stan decided to take the stairs. The jolt began before the doors had even closed all the way, which was terrifying within itself. The display above the doors counted up, hit two, and kept on scaling before…

 

The display never hit four.

 

“What’s wrong with it?” Bill said, taking one forceful stomp. The elevator rocked, and Richie half expected the older man to complain about his bad knee.

 

“Stop tha-” Richie started. Before Bill decided to stop again, he decided to hit buttons on the panel. “Don’t do that! Bill!” He tried to grab his boss by the shoulder, but there was very limited space for either of them to go. 

 

“Why not?” Bill said curiously, continuing on. 

 

Richie stepped back, feeling as if the small space they were in was getting smaller. And warmer. And impossibly more death trap like. He wishes he could just get out of this damn elevator. He would have to take a different approach to calming both of them, but most of all  himself, down. Bill seemed far too calm.

 

“There are six elevator deaths per year, that’s why!” Richie’s voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “And hundreds and thousand of injuries.”

 

“That sounds like pretty good odds to me,” Bill said, carrying on.

 

Times like this are when Richie realizes he is absolutely cursed with knowledge. He thinks it gets him into more trouble than it’s worth. All of the facts and trivia usually overcomplicate things, leading him to overthinking. Not when it comes to speaking of course, but his actions. 

 

Bill stops for a moment. “Are you scared?” He quirks an eyebrow.

 

“No.”

 

“Now listen, Richie. I don’t want to be in here either.” He took a step towards the door again. “Maybe, though, if we push-” He began to push at the door. “C’mon! Pull the other side Richie.”

 

His brain was going a thousand different directions, but he can’t think of a time that he didn’t listen to Bill. He grabbed onto the door, and it seemed more than hopeless. Bill’s encouraging words might have been helping, or it may have been the absolute fear that was running through his veins. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his brow-

 

_ Ding! _

 

The doors flew open, a four on the display.

 

“Are you guys-”

 

Richie wheezed, stumbling forward through the doors. Bill walked out calmly behind him, not having any words to say to Stanley, who was obviously concerned and standing outside the elevator.

 

“Okay?” Richie wheezed. “No, Staniel. I am, in fact, not okay. I have never been so relieved to see your face in my whole entire life. You know that? I don’t think we’ll ever be taking another trip in an elevator any-”

 

A jingle of keys rattled in a hand that wasn’t Stan or Bill’s. “Her apartment is this way, gentlemen.”

 

Even though Richie’s theatrics were cut off, Stan still kept a reassuring arm around him as they squeezed through the halls.

 

Great. More tight spaces.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @ willwheelcr ! come yell at me if ya want.
> 
> also, i based their roles off of the characters in criminal minds! some are very obvious. hopefully that makes it a little fun.


End file.
